


A Foreign Warmth

by sugarsubstitute



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Rated because of a little bit of swearing, i wrote this in like 2 hours, it has made me actually write something, like seriously i've only seen one episode and look at what it has done, note: i think it'd be cute if yuri had a little crush on yuuri, tbh kind of nervous about writing again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarsubstitute/pseuds/sugarsubstitute
Summary: Big surprise, Victor has abandoned him. Not in Russia, not on the ice rink but in an onsen with his rival. Despite his predicament, he puts up with it. After all, dinner with the person he currently hated the most in the world wasn't really going to change much, right?





	

Yuri couldn’t help but wonder if Victor had known this would happen. Who was he kidding, that prick _definitely_ knew this would happen. He excused himself from the onsen for the night with tall tales of poxy Japanese press interviews, shitty fan meet-ups and wack demonstrations. Sure, he was Russia’s greatest male figure skater or whatever (although he would without a doubt be crushed by his fifteen year-old successor eventually), but he _couldn’t_ and _shouldn’t_ have all these events on one night. He did it to purposefully leave no time to make it home that evening which would mean that they would have to have dinner without him, that scheming asshole.

Now, he was forced to eat dinner, without the presence of his mentor, with the Japanese Yuuri and his family. 

 

His mother had a thing with cleanliness it seemed, so she ordered all who wanted to be fed to queue up at the sink to wash their hands, she then stood there to give a quick once-over of the spotlessness everyone’s nails before sending each one of them off to one of the tables. Yuri, annoyed with his predicament, dragged his feet slowly to the back of the line to let everyone in the room be aware that he is definitely, definitely not happy to be stuck here without Victor. As the line wound down, the smell of whatever it was that was cooking filled the atmosphere and so whatever annoyance the people at the onsen felt after Yuri’s display of his discontent melted away and brought a light blush to the faces of those who weren’t already blushing with drunkenness. Yuri’s frown deepened as the people in front stopped paying attention to him.

When it was finally his turn as the last person, the mother instructed him to roll his jacket’s sleeves up (which he was going to do anyway, he didn’t need her to tell him, just so that’s clear). He did so before he stuck his hands under the tap that had been left to run and began scrubbing at his hands. The skin on the surface of his hands was often cracked due to the air at the rink nipping at his body, which was why he had started to wear gloves at the advice of Victor. While the cracks on his skin had faded slightly if he stared at them long enough they revealed themselves to be still tainting his flesh. It stung a little to use the soap as it turned foamed up from a blue liquid to a white froth, but that was alright, as it allowed all that annoying daily grit which gathered under his nails to be cleansed. Once satisfied, he copied what he saw the other men do and presented his hands, spread out, to the rounded mother. 

“My, what lovely, smooth skin!” she praised as she immediately took his dripping hands in her own. “Your skin is so beautiful, porcelain even, perfect for a young one like yourself.” She continued as she eyed his nails, to which Yuri tried his very best not to denounce her for saying his skin was beautiful (because it clearly was tattered and unsightly and he didn’t need any false flattery anyway) and for calling him a ‘young one’ (he was going into the senior division soon, it was about time everyone stopped treating him like a child). He then considered her, how she was filling his stomach with hot food and how Victor would scold him for yelling at the lady who is housing them during their stay in Japan. 

So instead he said “Yeah” and only flinched slightly when she dried his hands with a towel and looked up at him with a smile. 

“There.” She finished when his hands were dry, and before he had the chance to quickly walk off she held her hands up to keep him stood in place. “One moment!” she grinned as she rummaged in her pockets.

 

Yuri raised an eyebrow that would go unseen behind his hair as the Japanese Yuuri’s mother murmured words that he couldn’t translate before her face lit up at finding whatever it was she was looking for and pulling it out and presenting it to him with a “Ta-da!”

He saw it. He turned to walk away.

“Wait, wait!” she called out, holding an arm that once again barred him from moving.

“No way.” He said with a fierce shake of a head. He allowed himself to have his hands held by a small woman, who called him beautiful and called him a child but he will not comply with her, no matter how disappointed Victor would be with him (and it wasn’t like he even really cared about that or anything).

“Your hair is wonderfully blonde, it looks so silky, and if it covers your face like that you’ll get food all in it and ruin it.” The woman coaxed, standing on her tip toes to reach for him.

“No.” he whined, leaning away, only for the woman to be unbelievably strong-willed in grasping for his face. However, he was even more so and leaned far away enough that there was no way that the woman could reach him as she was already straining upwards to only just be able to wave her arms around at him.

 

She lightly huffed and retreated but wasn’t finished just yet. She folded her little arms over her chest and looked up at him. “Plisetsky-kun, if you don’t let me do this then I’m afraid you’ll have to go straight to bed without food.” 

Yuri scrunched up his nose. He wasn’t a child, he shouldn’t cower down to threats of going without dinner for the night - he didn’t even do so when he _was_ a child. She stared back up at him, message clear. He tried to keep his stance up for as long as he could before he felt and heard his stomach rumble and with that he might as well have held up a white flag and have waved it in front of her face. 

He looked down, lowering himself within the woman’s reach and although he didn’t actually say so they both knew who had won.

 

She smiled wider, but didn’t show any signs of anything even slightly relating to snarkiness despite the fact she had won a battle of will against the Russian Punk, and instead gleefully hummed as she carefully pushed back the long fringe that blinded his right eye before clipping the blue-white polka dotted hair clip and securing his fringe out of his sight. He opened his eyes and he could see the woman look back at him with gleaming widened eyes.

“My, your face is so beautiful too! No wonder you’re so popular.” She praised again with a wide smile. He felt so exposed to her, the windows to his soul were borne to her yet she just stood there and smiled. He would never, ever, ever admit it to anyone but some small part of him was tempted to smile back to see what she would say to that.

 

“Go on now, sit with Yuuri, everyone’s waiting.” The lady said, nudging him forward until he walked to the gathering of tables with head bowed in an effort to hide his exposed face.

One thing that must be set straight was that in normal circumstances Yuri would never, ever, ever dine with Yuuri. Not even if he was paying and as a reward he would give Yuri all the animal printed things he wanted. However, this was an exception as Yuri was in a very vulnerable state. His mentor was gone, he had his hands touched and examined, his hair pinned back with a girl’s hair clip and he got called beautiful: he was in no state to sit with complete strangers. At least if he sat with Yuuri, one piercing glance and a hiss would allow him to avoid questioning. At least if he sat with Yuuri, he would be sitting with someone he kind-of knew even if he was a no good nuisance who was making attempts to steal Victor as his coach. Still, he had put up with a lot already, so he was certain he could put up with him.

 

He observed how the people around him sat on their knees, back straightened and hands on laps. So, when he sat down next to Yuuri, inching as far away from him as possible, he copied them. It was uncomfortable.

While those around them spoke casually, with the drunk ones laughing louder and talking louder than the others, they sat in silence. Yuri looked down, only to lift it up when cheers erupted and workers carrying food exited from the kitchen. The first one out, being who Victor had pointed out to him as being Yuuri’s father, made a bee-line for him and placed a strange black bowl with a black lid over it in front of him.

“As our honoured guest, you get served first.” He beamed, before placing another one in front of Yuuri. He did the same for the others, smiling at them and exchanging small talk while the other workers placed similar bowls in front of everyone in the room.

While they did that, Yuri looked down and saw his cutlery. He knew they used chopsticks in Japan, but his looked weird. He thought they were just two stick-like things either made out of plastic, metal or wood and while they were made out of wood they seemed to be much thicker than Yuuri’s and were slotted into one another. At closer inspection, he saw that they were leopard printed and while that did make him like them a little cooler in his eyes they were still weird looking and a lot different to Yuuri’s; and that annoyed him. 

“Oi.” Yuri called, making Yuuri tense up before turning to him. He stuck his chopsticks up at him, pointed end at his face which made him squeak, and glared at him. “Why are mine so much different than yours.” He questioned.

Yuuri’s eyes widened at the end of the chopsticks for a few seconds before nervously and carefully pushing Yuri’s arm away. He looked at Yuri confusedly before looking to Yuri’s chopsticks and answering.

“W-well, I think my mother and father thought that since you’re from Russia you might not have much experience with using chopsticks. S-so, uh, they gave you those. U-usually they’re given to young children b-but…” he explained before trailing off.

Yuri’s eyebrow twitched. Yuuri squeaked again.

 

Admittedly, Yuri had no idea how to use chopsticks, but he’d rather use real chopsticks and look like an idiot than use little children’s chopsticks and look like an idiot, even if they had a really cool leopard-print pattern on them. Just as he was about to demand to swap with the Japanese Yuuri everyone’s attention was called by Yuuri’s father.

“Okay, everyone! Eat and drink your fill!” he called out, which was met by cheers before everyone simmered down and clapped their hands together. Yuuri did it too, so Yuri copied him.

“Thank you for the meal!” everyone chorused, with the young skater falling slightly behind.

In a swift and sudden movement, the group lifted the black lids from their bowls and the aroma of home-cooked meals lifted the air. Steam wafted upwards, followed by the sound of groaning and slurping as people began to devour their meals. Yuri grimaced; the wet, gross sounds were such a disgusting side of Japanese culture seeing how by most they were not considered disturbing in the slightest. Then, he heard someone blow their nose and with that he was tempted to get up and leave, even if his stomach was close to eating itself.

Yuuri lifted his own lid, letting out a small happy sigh at the feeling of the steam followed by the sweet, sweet smell of his mother’s cooking. Yuri looked at him and how his glasses clouded up, and when the smell reached his own nose, Yuri was convinced and lifted his lid.

 

It hit him hard, the steam. It was like a shock to the system but then nurtured his being with warmth as it curled around his lips, his cheeks, his ears and his hair. Like a bomb, the scent hit him harder and shot up his nose and made him fling his head up, the aroma of pork, broth, freshly steamed rice filling him and heightening his senses. He looked down again as the fallout cleared and what he saw was truly something he’d never seen before.

Fluffy, pure white rice filled the bowl up nearly to the top, topping itself with what looked like some kind of meat (most likely pork judging by the smell from earlier) deep fried in breadcrumbs which was glistening and sizzling from the heat which meant that it had just come out of the fryer. The pork had a raw egg cracked over it with some kind of broth accompanying it, the final addition to make the meal complete being what looked like green onions scattered randomly over the top like sprinkles on a cake or glitter on a piece of artwork. 

So, this was a home-cooked meal, huh?

 

“Plisetsky-san?” a voice piped up from beside him.

“Huh?” he asked softly without realising, turning his head to the voice. Yuuri looked at him.

“Are you going to eat?” he asked, after he saw him stare at the food for a while.

“Huh?” he asked again, before snapping out of his daze and looking back at his food. “Obviously.” He grumbled after gaining his composure. He then realised how much his back ached from being in that position, and stretched backwards.

“Um, you know,” Yuuri began. “You don’t have to sit like that, since you won’t be used to it.

Usually, stubbornness would force him to remain sitting like he was just to spite him but, like with a lot of things on this night, it was an exception. He breathed a sigh of relief as he hunched his back and sat cross-legged. 

 

“I’m going to eat now.” Yuri said, picking up his children’s chopsticks. As he did so, the smell of the moron’s mother’s cooking filled his senses again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he felt saliva building up. Children’s chopsticks be damned, hair clip be damned, incorrect posture be damned. He grabbed at the chopsticks, using them to pick up a good chunk of whatever and crammed it into his mouth. 

He held his hand to his lips. He melted. That pork, the care, the broth, the… love. It melted. It sank into his mouth and set his body ablaze, a strange warmth stretching to every nook and cranny of his slender build, right up to the fingertips. It was wonderful. 

 

Yuuri watched in awe (and slight concern) as the fifteen-year-old practically scooped and threw the cooking into his mouth, muffling his groaning.

“My, uh, parents thought you might enjoy our specialty.” He gulped, hoping he could be heard. “It’s called katsudon, pork cutlets with rice and uh…” he continued as Yuri kept rapidly eating. “They also said that… if you wanted more, you could have as much as you wanted.”

Pause. Yuri stared up at the Japanese Yuuri. This person was the key to getting food. He looked down at his bowl which was half-empty (as no one would say ‘half-full’ in this situation) and looked back up at Yuuri. He narrowed his eyes. 

Yes, he’ll put up with him, for now.

 

That night, belly full and fringe unleashed, he checked his phone. The bright light of his Instagram feed made him have to squint to read the text under the posts of all the fellow skaters he followed (which, seeing as he didn’t have many friends, meant Victor), finding the most recent post.  
‘Having a great time!’ the caption yelled below a photo of the nearly-30 year old on a merry-go-round, sunglasses on and hanging low on the bridge of his nose, candy floss on his sticking-out tongue. He was winking. Yuri took that as a message to him: ‘ _you enjoyed tonight, didn’t you?_ ’ it taunted. 

Yuri scoffed and threw his phone aside. Stupid, _stupid_ Victor. Faking having plans and ditching them. He shouldn’t have been surprised though, Victor always did something like that. He would come back tomorrow, expecting Yuri to tell him all the nitty-gritty of his night, as if in one instance of being forced together for a night his student and his interest would be plating each-others hair when he walked in. Well, for once, Yuri can say for certain that nothing had changed between the punk and the moron. He was still a pain, only now he is allowed to be kept alive because without him he may never get the taste of whatever it was he had cooked for him. 

On that note, his mind began to wonder to memories of that night, with bowls of cutlets and filled cheeks, full stomachs and full smiles as Yuuri’s parents were thanked by him for the dinner. Yuuri told him he could keep the chopsticks, but since he knew how much Yuri liked animal prints (because Victor told him, he would never personally tell someone like him about his fashion sense, someone like him wouldn’t ever understand it) he selected the animal-print ones for him specially. It was stupid of him, to think of him like that.

Then, he thought of the warmth. He felt it as he recounted that night’s events. He was called beautiful, he got a home-cooked meal, he was an honoured guest, and someone thought about him. It was stupid, yet… just thinking about it brought an even stranger warmth that made his skin, his cheeks, his heart glow. 

 

He stared up at the ceiling at the blue eyes and pearly-white smile of the Victor poster that was stuck there, probably by the Japanese Yuuri, and seeing his face suddenly made him remember how Victor put his arm around Yuuri, and asked embarrassing questions, and touched him so much. He lied, he couldn’t keep promises and then blatantly made his lies obvious online and by doing so teasing Yuri by showing how he was right as he knew he would be because of course he was always right, the conniving prick. Despite all the teasing and the general annoyance Yuuri still smiled at Victor from ear to ear, wider and brighter than any ice rink or any one of Victor’s plastered beams.

Yuri frowned and brought his futon up to cover his head, the weird glow heating his face. Honestly, what did that moron see in someone like _that_?

**Author's Note:**

> After more than a year of attempts to write that only ended in backfire, it only took oNE EPISODE OF YURI!!! ON ICE TO GET ME TO WRITE SOMETHING. Yuri is my world, my heart, my soul; and even though I only saw him for less than two minutes I know he's going to be my favourite. Since there isn't much to go on, I've kind of made stabs of what I think Yuri's character would be like. Since this was written in such a short amount of time I didn't really get a chance to proofread, so if you find anything that looks weird, doesn't make sense or if you find any grammatical or punctuation mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them! 
> 
> If I think I'm happy enough with this work I might write something else, but we'll see. Hope you enjoyed! :)


End file.
